


you made me forget myself

by freloux



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Guitars, Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 22:13:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5432675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freloux/pseuds/freloux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>just dorks bein' domestic. there may or may not be kissing involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you made me forget myself

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this fanart](http://benedict-and-the-blue-box.tumblr.com/post/133416481347/headcanon-that-after-daily-adventures-12-sometimes): "Headcanon that after daily adventures [the doctor] sometimes stays a while at clara’s house and plays her some music."

He seems smaller like this, almost like he's shrunk. A bit at loose ends. He's not in his element: fighting aliens, commanding the stars. What he is doing is sitting on Clara's couch while they wait for the tea. But he's got his guitar, so that's something. It's a shield, right. Something to do with his hands. Of course, Clara may have a few other ideas for what he could do with his hands, but he's not ready for that right now.

They're both a bit tired, really. Running takes a lot out of a person. Flung from one galaxy to the next and now here they are. Taking a breath. He strums idly on the guitar, notes coming out in not much of a pattern. He watches Clara as she bustles about, humming to herself, eventually singing under her breath. He picks up on it and starts to play for real. Tries to ignore how he feels when she turns around and smiles at the recognition of how he knew what she was singing.

The water swirls in the kettle before it shrieks, announcing it's ready. Clara doesn't even ask what kind of tea he wants anymore, she just knows. He feels almost like a different person - a better person. He might even believe that he is one now, especially when he's with Clara. But the longer he plays, the more those tricky moral questions seem less important. Right now, he's got a guitar resting on his lap and Clara next to him, her knees bunched up under her. Peace and quiet settle over them. They finish their tea, not talking much.

"Kiss me," Clara says, looking up at him. "Please" as an afterthought.

"All right."

How did they get here, he wonders, with him blindly following after her instead of the other way around? It's probably always been this way, but he was unwilling to admit it. Men, even angry 2,000-year-old aliens, never really do.

Clara kisses soft and lippy. She sighs, tangles her hands in his hair. He gets his guitar out of the way so he can hold her for real, instead of turned towards her awkwardly with a hand at her shoulder. They settle into each other. He's not good at this. That is, he wasn't when they first started, but Clara brought him up to speed fairly quickly. Taught him how to touch, taught him how to feel. Of course, as competitive as he is, he wanted to get better. Nothing to do with the way she's so warm against him, no, not at all. And then there's the thing where he'd do anything to make her happy - and one of those ways is to kiss her like his life depends on it. Which, by this point, it basically does.

She runs a hand up his arm, over the soft fabric of his hoodie. Then she pulls away and wipes off her mouth with the back of her hand. "Mmm?" he asks, a little sleepy. "It's just so much nicer," she says quietly, leaning in to kiss him again. "Kissing you like this." Without the armor in the way. How, like his hoodie, he's gotten softer over time. Clara may have had one or two things to do with that, too.

They trade kisses for awhile until he asks her, quietly, "Do you want me to stay?"

"Yeah," she says.

So he picks up his guitar again and plays aimlessly while she cleans up. She eventually drifts back to the couch. Falls into his orbit once more - they always do. Clara yawns and tucks her head into the crook of his neck. "And after this we can..." She yawns, trails off. Mumbles something about visiting that planet again, you know, the one with the pod-people.

"Yes, ma'am."


End file.
